Ever since she received the gift of Oghma, God of Truth, and gained the ability to glimpse another person's past, Teresa had gone a long time without feeling truly confused.

Now, however, she had sunk into a deep bewilderment.

The last time she failed to peer into Roland's past, she could still explain it as coincidence, or as some special quality unique to him. But now...

Teresa narrowed her eyes and looked past Avril and Galvez.

Behind them, much like behind Roland, hung a veil of mist. The same indescribable power lingered there as well, something close to divine might.

Only, compared with the deep, dense fog behind Roland, the mist behind the two of them was thinner. It allowed her to catch a few broken fragments.

"Galvez Stars. Half-Elf. Disciple of Vesna. A... bard who has traveled the continent for many years..."

Galvez seemed to notice her attention. He raised a hand and gave her a friendly wave.

Teresa nodded in return, then fixed her gaze behind Avril.

"Avril Starwhisper. Noble bloodline of the Elven race. Silvermoon Guard's... Valkyrie?"

After catching that piece of information, Teresa turned toward Roland in confusion.

If she had heard him correctly, when Roland introduced this Elf girl just now, he had said...

A reserve member of Shadow Veil from the River Kingdoms?

That...

An absurd feeling rose in Teresa's heart.

And more than that...

The silver-haired woman's brow tightened.

She withdrew her gaze from Avril's past and studied the Elf girl's face again.

That soft, innocent expression and bright smile in front of her simply would not match the silver-haired Elven warrior she had just glimpsed, the one with the cold face and decisive killing intent.

"What's wrong, Teresa?"

Roland noticed that the silver-haired woman beside him had gone distant and asked.

In the next instant, he understood what had happened. He leaned down and murmured beside her ear.

"Teresa, unless you need to, use that ability less."

"Everyone needs a little private space, don't they?"

The warmth of his breath near her ear snapped Teresa back to herself. Flustered, she gave a small nod.

"You are right, Mr. Roland."

"Roland!"

Avril's voice cut in. She glanced at the slightly intimate posture between the young man and the silver-haired woman, and a tiny hint of displeasure crossed her eyes.

She shifted her feet with practiced ease, slipped between the two of them, then lifted her head and asked, "Galvez said you went to a banquet. Did you bring me anything good to eat?"

"No..."

Faced with the Elf girl's familiar enthusiasm, Roland shook his head helplessly.

"But I can make something for you now. Also..."

He glanced at the silent Teresa and let out a breath.

"Now that everyone is here, we can discuss clearing out monsters."

"Yes!"

Avril cheered.

While gesturing for Teresa to sit wherever she liked, Roland caught the bard by the back of his collar just as Galvez tried to slip away.

"Galvez, don't even think about running. Stay here."

Ignoring the bitter smile on the bard's face, Roland turned and went into the kitchen.

Before long, the wooden table was covered with steaming dishes.

They were not as lavish as the banquet Trevor had prepared, but the flavor was even better.

All four people present had plenty of experience, so the monster-clearing plan was quickly settled, and they drafted a concrete course of action.

Avril and Teresa would use the merchant faction and the Adventurer's Guild to gather as much intelligence as possible and lock onto a commission target.

Galvez would be responsible for preparing the supplies needed for the trip.

After dinner, the small courtyard that had been lively a moment earlier was empty except for Roland.

He knocked softly on Bronson's door, explained the next plan of action, then headed straight for the Knight Academy.

At dusk, the training ground stood deserted.

Roland stood still, eyes closed.

His chest rose and fell in a long, regular rhythm.

He carefully sensed the flow of the "breath sensation" moving through his body. Only after a while did he open his eyes and step in front of a thick wooden stake wide enough that two people would need to link arms around it.

It was a training tool, and an exceptionally hard one.

He gripped the iron practice sword. The cold metal against his palm sharpened his focus.

"First, I'll try maintaining the subtle, demanding rhythm of the Knight breathing method while using swordsmanship..."

The thought had barely formed before he began his first attempt.

The longsword cut through the air in a familiar chop, but the faint current of energy he had only just gathered scattered at once, like birds startled from a branch.

The link between movement and breath was painfully awkward.

The strike looked fierce, but it only raised a dull rush of wind. It was no different from his ordinary sword practice.

"Hah..."

Roland exhaled a stale breath, brow locked tight.

"Maintaining the breathing method during battle really isn't easy..."

He steadied his thoughts, calmed his mind, and took his stance again.

For the second attempt, Roland focused more of his attention on his breathing.

He inhaled, long and deep, trying to guide that force into his arm.

The longsword rose, its motion deliberately slowed.

At the instant the blade was about to reach its highest point, he exhaled hard and put his strength into the swing, doing his best to keep the rhythm of the "breath sensation" intact.

But the rhythm broke.

Focusing too much on breathing made the force behind his sword swing sluggish and stiff.

The falling path of the blade turned clumsy, and its power dropped sharply. It felt like chopping into tough leather, a blunt and useless impact.

A faint ache spread through his arm from the uncoordinated motion.

"Damn it!"

Roland cursed under his breath. Sweat seeped from the corner of his forehead.

His mind felt pulled apart.

He had to control the trajectory and timing of his sword moves while maintaining the inner, elusive rhythm of breath sensation.

The two pulled against each other like two unbroken horses straining in opposite directions.

The third attempt. The fourth.

The result did not change.

Every try ended with the breath sensation collapsing, the movement deforming, or the power draining away.

Sometimes he forgot the breathing rhythm the moment he swung. Sometimes the breath barely kept up, but he could not merge that faint power into the sword move. More often, attending to one made him lose the other, leaving his sword limp and the breath sensation scattered.

The training ground held only his rough breathing and the monotonous whistle of the longsword through the air.

Sweat soaked through his clothes and clung to his skin with a faint chill, but it did not put out the heat in his chest.

Because Roland could clearly feel that every attempt made his control over the breathing method a little more practiced.

"Hah..."

After a long breath, he stopped and leaned lightly on the sword hilt, panting while he recalled the details of practicing the breathing method in seated meditation.

"Resonance... naturalness..."

He closed his eyes.

He stopped thinking through every detail of the sword move. He also stopped forcing the "breath sensation" to follow a perfect path.

Instead, he sank his mind into the most basic breathing rhythm itself.

That was the core pulse of the Knight breathing method.

Inhale, imagining energy surging into his core like a tide.

Exhale, letting that energy flow into his limbs and bones with the ease of moving his own arm.

He emptied himself of anxiety over "failure." Only the pure intent to "maintain" remained.

When he raised the longsword again, his movement seemed heavier and more deliberate.

He no longer chased speed. He pursued only the synchronization of inside and outside.

Inhale...

The longsword rose steadily above his head. That scorching stream appeared again, faint but stubborn, flowing along the path of his will.

Exhale...

Power erupted.

The longsword carried a weight it had never possessed before. It came down with violent force, tearing the air apart.

At the instant the blade and the breathing rhythm reached some indescribable point of harmony...

Rip!

A dull, shocking tearing sound rang out.

The longsword did not strike empty air. It swept through the center of the wooden stake without the slightest resistance, like a hot knife through butter.

Roland held the ending posture of his swing. His chest heaved, and he gasped for breath.

Then he stared ahead in disbelief.

The sturdy wooden stake had been split cleanly in two from the middle.

The cut was astonishingly smooth. He could even see the dense growth rings with perfect clarity.

The two halves shifted apart, then crashed heavily to the ground with a loud bang, throwing up a cloud of dust.

His arm throbbed with sour numbness from the sudden drain of strength, and a heavy fatigue welled up from deep in his mind.

All of it was swallowed by the shock of the impossible scene before him.

Roland lowered his head and looked at the slightly trembling practice longsword in his hand. After confirming that neither edge had been sharpened, he looked back at the two broken pieces on the ground. His eyes filled with astonishment, and with something else...

An indescribable, burning realization.

"So this is the true power of the Knight breathing method... in battle?"

A single burst that perfectly fused the circulation of the Knight breathing method with a sword form could actually produce such destructive force?

Roland stepped forward and carefully examined the severed wooden stake, clicking his tongue despite himself.

"This power... it might be enough to rival the combat technique [Cleave]! If I use [Cleave] while circulating the breathing method..."

Just imagining it made Roland's emotions surge.

And that was not all. When he circulated the breathing method just now, he had noticed something unusual.

When the breathing method took effect during movement, it did not only improve strength. It improved agility as well.

That meant once he mastered it and integrated the breathing method into combat, his strength would make an all-around leap.

A moment later, however, Roland faced reality and shook his head helplessly.

"Just now, I was only standing in place, trying to use the breathing method while swinging a sword, and it almost exhausted all my focus. Even then, the success rate was pitifully low. In real combat..."

The image of a fierce enemy offensive rose in his mind.

"An enemy won't give me room to breathe, much less let me divide my attention between circulating the breathing method and using combat techniques..."

Although he understood the difficulty, Roland did not feel much frustration or disappointment.

After all, only a few days had passed since he obtained the breathing method.

Being able to use it in daily training in such a short time was already tremendous progress.

He firmly believed that with enough time, applying the breathing method in combat would be a natural result of practice.

With that thought, Roland let out a long breath. After a short rest restored a little of his stamina and mental energy, he moved to another wooden stake.

He was just about to raise the iron practice sword and continue when heavy footsteps sounded behind him.

A rough voice followed them.

"Oh? Not bad, boy!"

Roland looked back and saw a figure like a small mountain walking toward him.

Leather boots struck the ground with dull thuds.

Only after the man drew closer did Roland narrow his eyes and make out his face.

"Principal Graham?"

The newcomer was Graham, the principal of the Knight Academy.

Compared with the first time Roland met him, however, this powerful principal had changed.

His build was still massive as a mountain, but his back was slightly hunched.

His hair, already somewhat disheveled before, was now a complete mess. A heavy smell of alcohol rolled off him, and several drops of liquor clung to his thick beard, trembling on the verge of falling.

His entire person was wrapped in an air of decay and depression.

Gulp... gulp...

After swallowing another mouthful of wine, Graham casually wiped the liquor from his chin, walked to the wooden stake Roland had just cut apart, and bent down to inspect it.

Only after a while did he turn his head. Surprise stirred in his cloudy eyes.

"Boy... you've already mastered the Knight breathing method?"

Roland nodded lightly.

This principal, renowned throughout the River Kingdoms, took heavy steps until he stood in front of Roland. His enormous body almost blocked out all the light.

He looked Roland over carefully and clicked his tongue in wonder.

"How many days has it been since that old fellow Nielsen handed you the Knight breathing method? Not only did you learn it..."

He pointed one thick finger toward the solid wooden stake split in two nearby.

"You can even use battle aura in a crude way?"

Looking at Roland's young face, a faint melancholy passed through Graham's eyes.

"I didn't expect it... That boy Colin really did dig up a fine piece of material for the academy..."

Roland did not linger on Graham's praise. Instead, he caught the key word in the man's sentence.

Battle aura.

"Principal Graham..."

Seeing that the man was no longer as aggressive as he had been at their first meeting, Roland relaxed a little, gave a slight bow, and asked, "This 'battle aura' you mentioned..."

"It's the strange current you sense when cultivating the breathing method..."

Perhaps Roland's talent had moved him. Graham did not brush the question aside. He explained with rare patience.

"Different places call this power different things: breath sensation, battle aura, war aura, and so on. In essence, they're all the same."

Roland nodded in understanding, then continued, "Then Principal, how exactly is this... current produced?"

When cultivating the Knight breathing method, Roland had already been doubtful about the "breath sensation" described on the parchment scroll.

He knew very well that he was in another world, and many of the natural laws from his previous life might no longer apply.

But according to his observations, even when casting supernatural cantrips, he still needed to draw free Mana Elements from the air and transform them.

That at least proved that some form of energy conservation likely still existed in this world.

However...

Recalling the details of practicing the breathing method, Roland frowned.

He could clearly feel that most of the energy flow called "breath sensation" emerged directly from within his body when the breathing method circulated.

Only an extremely small portion seemed to come from some indescribable power outside.

That contradiction left him deeply puzzled.

Hearing Roland's question, Graham tilted his head back and drank a large mouthful of wine.

An unusually pungent reek of alcohol spread as the principal of the Knight Academy extended a thick palm and clapped Roland heavily on the shoulder.

"Boy, the battle aura produced by the breathing method comes from you."

Seeing the confusion in Roland's eyes, Graham explained further.

"The process of cultivating the Knight breathing method is, at its core, digging into the potential of your own body. That's why people with stronger physiques find it easier to succeed, and why the power they can unleash is greater."

Digging into the body's potential...

Roland turned those words over in his mind.

Then a thought struck him. He raised his head and said carefully, "Principal Graham, what you mean is... cultivating the Knight breathing method is actually... overdrawing one's own body?"

"Correct!"

Seeing Roland grasp the key at once, Graham nodded approvingly, though heaviness crossed his eyes.

"That's why a standard Knight's peak is usually around forty to fifty years old. After that, their strength declines rapidly. And the more powerful the Knight, the more violent that decline tends to be. Their lifespan... is often shorter as well."

Exchanging life for power...

Was this the price of obtaining Transcendent power?

Roland repeatedly considered Graham's words, but then something occurred to him, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

No.

If Graham was right, then...

How could King Morne's condition be explained?

As far as he knew, the king of the Golden Valley Kingdom was now nearly a hundred years old, yet both his spirit and physique remained exceptionally robust.

Even during the military exercise held to settle the people's hearts after the Blood Moon Rebellion, his age had already far exceeded the commonly recognized peak period of the Knight occupation.

Yet according to Bronson's description, the casual strike King Morne had unleashed at the time was still powerful enough to rival a fourth-circle spell cast by a wizard.

Thinking of this, Roland immediately voiced the question in his heart.

When Graham heard it, he fell silent for a moment. Envy, barely visible, moved through his cloudy eyes. Then he spoke, his voice carrying complicated emotion.

"That is... an exception. As far as I know, there are several other exceptions like that. However..."

The principal of the Knight Academy shook his head, his tone edged with helplessness.

"My Knight breathing method is far from reaching that realm, so I cannot give you a definite answer."

He paused. His cloudy eyes looked into the distance, either thinking or remembering.

"But according to my speculation, this kind of phenomenon beyond ordinary people likely has nothing to do with the type of breathing method being cultivated. It is more like... after tempering the breathing method to its limit, some kind of... transformation appears."